


Drunk

by amoeve



Series: Zutara Month 2015 [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoeve/pseuds/amoeve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which alcohol has been drunk and Zuko is maudlin until Katara cheers him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk

The thing. The thing is, see. Zuko’s not shy, not really. He just kinda – sorta – he just gets a bit tongue-tied sometimes. Because he doesn’t think things through. Usually when it’s important.

Always when there are girls involved.

Well. Actually. The thing is that there’s one girl in particular.

A very pretty, very powerful, very cute when she’s fierce but not when she’s _too_ fierce ’cause then she’s kinda scary but also awesome… uh, yeah.

A girl.

And he has no idea what to say.

So he sits by the fire at Sokka and Suki’s wedding because he feels a bit adrift in this land of ice. He’s drunk way too much of the Water Tribe’s snow-cooled wine, because he wasn’t going to let down the honour of the Fire Nation when Sokka challenged him to a drinking game. And he is up to his knees in denial about avoiding the dance floor because he doesn’t know what to say to the people on it.

Especially not a certain waterbender.

He hears a slight giggle just before Katara, wearing a white dress that shouldn’t be allowed because she looks painfully lovely in it, flops down next to him.

“Oops,” she says, and giggles again, and he does not notice at all the way she hitches her dress up at the front. “Hi, Zuko.”

“Hey Katara.” He’s already wincing because that came out like a rasp – not what he intended at all.

“Oh, don’t be a grump,” she says, leaning forwards. “You’re way too handsome to be grumpy all the time.”

Heat floods his face. “What?”

“Anyway, you should come dance with me,” she ploughs right on, tugging at his arm. “Come _on_.”

“Oh, no, I’m a terrible dancer,” he says, “you’d look much better without me getting in your way.”

Katara pouts. “But I _want_ to dance. Don’t you like me?”

Zuko chokes. “Well, yeah, obviously, we’re friends, I like you,” he manages – but Katara just sighs, deeply.

“Even Aang danced with me, Zuko,” she says. “He’s a friend. He’s not my boyfriend any more and he danced with me. And I want to dance with you. Aren’t _we_ friends?”

“I… uh.” Zuko really doesn’t know what to say, and all this is giving him a very distracting feeling in his chest. “We’re friends. You and me. Yeah.”

She snuggles up to him. “Yeah,” she says, and out of the corner of his eye he can see her smiling. “Well I suppose I could catch my breath for a minute.”

Zuko’s pulse is thumping in his chest. He’s aware of the tingling of his skin, the cool draught blowing through the hall, the warm weight of Katara next to him... and he feels like any movement too sudden, any noise too loud might break this fragile, lovely, trembling spell that her presence has cast over him.

“Um.” He sorta, maybe closes his hand over one of hers, very gently. “Katara. Um. You said I was handsome.”

“No!” She jerks upright and stares at him, blushing. “I mean – I – yes, you are, I did say that.” She bites her lip and peers at him, and the strap of her dress slips down over her shoulder.

“I mean, you’re really pretty,” he blurts out, because that’s the point he’s been fumbling towards all along. The firelight is glinting in her eyes and her hair is all in a disarray from dancing and now she’s squeezing the hand she’s somehow slipped between her own. “Like... _really_ pretty. So… you should stay here with me. And not dance.”

“That sounds nice,” she says, tilting her head to one side. “But we can’t get married until we’re sober.”

He chokes. “What?”

Peal upon peal of laughter bubble out of Katara, and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in the whole, wide world. “Oh, Zuko,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder. “I do love you.”

“I love you too.” The words just pop out of his mouth like he didn’t even need to think about them.

“Tell me again in the morning?” she still sounds like she’s teasing him, but there’s something a little uncertain there, too. He wishes he could see her face.

“Katara. I will tell you _every_ morning.” It’s a very steady promise.

She pushes away from him, and looks at him, and blinks. “...Oh,” she says, blushing again. “Oh. Good. I mean, that would be nice. Please.” And then she smiles, and he tries not to think of cliches about the sunrise, but it tugs in his blood just the same way.

Zuko picks up her hands and decides that sometimes, actions speak louder.

He kisses her for the first time by the fire at her brother’s wedding, and if she squeaks and pounces on him and then they overbalance because of the snow-cooled wine, well, they don’t tell anybody that bit. But it makes a good story, nonetheless. 

At least they land on the elk-buffalo skins, and not the marble floor, or that might have interrupted the kissing somewhat.

 


End file.
